


The Mystery of the Missing Changeling

by inamac



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Humor, Magical Realism, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27656896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamac/pseuds/inamac
Summary: The clients who have used Mr Holmes' services have been drawn from all walks of life, and Watson has faithfully chronicled their cases. But there is one group of persons who have very special requirements and require absolute discretion. There is a reason why Mr Holmes seeks rooms with Mrs Hudson.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23
Collections: Holmestice Exchange - Winter 2020





	The Mystery of the Missing Changeling

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for Pipmer1 who asked (among other things) for case fic, magical realism, supernatural elements and canon gap fillers. Also 'Five Times and One'. Unfortunately I have yet to finish the rest of _Five Times Mr Holmes Was Away With The Fairies, and Once (Upon A Time) He Wasn't _, but hope that this taster will make Pipmer1's Holmstice happy.__

_Mrs E Hudson_

I have been blessed, or perhaps cursed, with Second Sight since I was a young girl. I realised that I could see things that were hidden from my companions one day when we were out playing in Kensington Gardens, making fun of the prim nannies and their coddled charges as they paraded along the walks pushing polished baby carriages and admonishing the older children for getting their clothes dirty or, worse, associating with 'common' children like myself.

In those days the wilder parts of the Gardens had not been tamed and in places the trees arched their branches over the paths, making darker tunnels of green shade. Sometimes I saw people in those shadows; tall folk with strange clothes and leaf-coloured skin moving with the grace of cats among the walkers. Once I saw one, green-skinned in golden robes, lean down over one of the baby carriages and exchange a bundle of rags for the child within. The nurse saw nothing, and the thief was gone before I could raise the alarm.

Not that I would have done so. I had learned by then to keep counsel about what I saw of the Fair Folk. And who is to judge whether the child would have a better life in our world or theirs?

So when, on the Christmas Eve of 1880, I opened the door of my lodging house on Baker Street to a tall man with sallow skin, thin, aesthetic features, and the air of one who could see things beyond human ken, I was, for a moment, unsure whether he was human or fae.

His enquiry was human enough. "I see from the card in your window that you have rooms to let. I should like to inspect them. I find myself in need of accommodation unexpectedly."

I eyed him dubiously. He was young, not more than twenty six or seven, and dressed in good quality, but not fashionable, clothes. There were a few stains on his coat that had been inexpertly treated with borax, which suggested that he might be a doctor or scientist, and that he did not have a wife or servant to care for him.

"I am not sure that they would suit, sir. There are two bedrooms and a large sitting room..."

I got no further. He was already half way up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I followed more sedately, feeling for the ring of keys in my pocket. He was standing impatiently in front of the door when I reached it. I wondered briefly how he knew it was the right one, since there were three off the landing, but he doubtless had his methods. I inserted the correct key and admitted him.

"Furnished!" he exclaimed. "Splendid. You wouldn't object to a few items of my own? A workbench for my experiments, and a fume cupboard? And I see that you have gas installed. Excellent! A reliable supply for a Bunsen burner will be a great advantage. The bookshelves and cabinets will suffice, and the desk is perfect. "

I mentally added half a guinea to my usual rent and nodded. He strode to the nearest window and pushed up the sash, leaning out to survey the street.

"I am afraid that there is a little noise from the traffic." I said.

He waved aside my protest. "The eternal bustle of the City," he said. "Which brings me so many clients. And from this window I will be able to see whoever comes to the door." He turned to me. "I shall be doing business from my rooms, and would expect clients at all hours. If that would be inconvenient I should be prepared to compensate you."

I added another guinea. At this rate I should be asking the sort of prices he might expect to pay in the West End, but I was intrigued. "One bedroom also overlooks the street," I pointed out. "The other has a rear view of the yard. The usual offices are at the end of the passage, and there is an exit by the back stairs to the yard and out by an alley onto New Street."

He rubbed his long fingered hands together: it was a gesture that I would learn to recognise. The gentleman was extraordinarily pleased. "Better and better. Now, what is your monthly rate?"

I named the figure I had arrived at. He nodded, non-committally, and I wondered whether I might have added a guinea too much. "With extra for gas and coal as supplied," I added.

"I will need to consider my finances." he said. "As there is a second bedroom I assume that you would not object to my having a companion to share the rent? Subject to your approval, of course."

"This is a respectable house," I said. "But as long as you will abide by my decision I should be prepared to consider a fellow lodger, Mister..."

"Holmes," he introduced himself, reaching out a hand to shake on our agreement. "Sherlock Holmes. I should like to engage the rooms immediately, and undertake to find a fellow lodger in the New Year. Would a two month rent in advance be acceptable?"

My usual rate was one month, but given Mr Holmes' odd conditions I agreed to two months with alacrity.

"Good," he said. "And now to the real purpose of my visit." He examined me with the same impassive gaze to which he had subjected the rooms. Considering, perhaps, if I was worthy of his attention. It was unnerving, but I stood my ground and gave him as steady a look in response.

He nodded. "I believe," he said, "that you have what is vulgarly known as 'second sight'. That you can see things that most men and women cannot."

"I have a small talent, sir. But I am not a medium or spiritualist. I have never taken money for my advice in such matters."

"I would not have come here if I thought that was the case. But my client suggested that I should consult you. She indicated to me that you may be of help."

"Your client? You are an agent of some sort? Are you engaging the rooms to share with a lady companion? Because if so..."

He looked both surprised and outraged by my question, as if the thought had not entered his head. It struck me that Mr Holmes was a rather unworldly man, for all his intelligent manner. He hastened to reassure me.

"Not at all! I am a consulting detective. I... find things for people. In this case my client has engaged me to find her long lost son."

I began to understand. Coupled with his enquiry about my second sight, there was an obvious conclusion to be drawn. "Have you seen this client?" I asked.

He shook his head. "She has communicated by letter, or should I say 'in writing'. I believe she is one of the Fair Folk, and she suggested you as an intermediary. And also because you may have been a witness to the... theft."

"It would have been some years ago," I said.

"Twenty years, or thereabouts. If you agree she would like to meet us. Today. In Kensington Gardens."

I was, I admit, intrigued. Against my better judgement I took my coat off the hall stand and began to put it on. "You had better call a cab," I said. "A growler. I won't be crammed into a hansom."

He picked up his stick and hat and went to the door to carry out my instruction.

The four-wheeler was waiting as I locked the front door and stepped out onto Baker Street. I noted that, in addition to procuring the cab Mr Holmes had also purchased a newspaper from the boy who was announcing the trial of _"A n'orrible murderer_. He tucked the paper under his arm in order to hand me in and gave the cabbie instructions to drop us at the Lancaster Gate entrance to the Gardens.

As we whirled down the length of Baker Street and turned along the Bayswater road, Holmes handed me the letter he had received. He turned his own attention to the headlines in his paper as I examined the missive. It was written on strange paper, veined as if made from dried leaves or frozen spiderweb. The ink was brown, oak-gall perhaps, and written with brush rather than pen.

_Cir Holms_

_They say that you find Things that are Lost. That you can plumb the depths of Mysteries and reveal where Secrets are hidden._

_If this be truth, help me to find my Son._

_He was exchanged by the Long Water, thrice seven years ago. There is one who has the Sight in Baker Street who may know. Find her. Bring her to me. Call and I will come._

_This for your Purse._

_Selaninie_

I smiled, knowing how the Old Ones pay. "You found this letter in your pocket," I said. "After a walk in the park. And there was a gold coin."

He nodded. "That is what convinced me that it was genuine," he said. "The following morning I found this in place of a gold Louis D'Or." He held out an acorn.

"I am surprised that you took it seriously enough to find me, after that. Most men would have put it down as a hoax."

Mr Holmes grinned. It changed his features entirely. It was the delight of a small boy given a new toy. I was to learn that he was only truly animated by such mysteries. "The coin was ancient, foreign, and rare. I doubt that anyone would have used it to carry out a mere practical joke on me, though there are some who might wish to. And then to exchange it for a fresh acorn, without my knowledge? Unlikely."

"So you concluded that it was fairy gold, and that you had been commissioned to find this changeling? That is a remarkable conclusion, Mr Holmes."

"A logical one. And there were other circumstances that led me to conclude that the case was one which I would be wise to investigate. Indeed, it was not until my enquiries were complete that I decided to contact you, as the final step in my deliberations. And now that I have met you I am all the more convinced." He broke off as the sound of the horse's hooves on the road ceased and the cab lurched to a halt. "Ah! here we are!"

The cab had reached Lancaster Gate. Holmes paid off the cabbie while I waited, looking at this northern entrance to Kensington Gardens. It was a very different view from the one I remembered from twenty years ago. The flat land at the end of the Long Water had been landscaped to make a small enclosed space, intersected by hedges and ponds with fountains in the Italian style. A stone-faced building to one side housed the pump to provide the water. The whole thing has been a gift from the Prince Consort to the Queen, and I wondered what she had thought of it. Under the grey London skies the place was rather dreary, the water dull, and moss was beginning to scum the brickwork. I have never been to Italy, but I expect that the Italian Garden would not be recognised as such by a native.

Mr Holmes joined me and we walked down the steps, through the Gardens, and onto the path that ran beside the lake. We stopped where the path narrowed, beside a stand of ornamental trees. As soon as we halted a small flock of waterbirds; ducks, coots and moorhens, arrowed across the water towards us. We had obviously chosen one of the places where nurses and their charges customarily fed the ducks. I shooed them away. We had nothing for them, and there was no one else in this part of the park. I do not think Mr Holmes noticed. He had turned away to peer into the woodland, and to voice a name.

"Selaninie?"

She was there, suddenly. She did not step from the shadowed trees, but seemed to alight on the path, as if borne by wings. Perhaps she had been, for the long gossamer cloak that settled behind her was veined like the wings of a dragonfly, the same glittering substance as the robe she wore. But the Old Ones are masters of deceit and have their own magic. One should not speculate on their means and motives.

She looked at me for a moment, aware that I could see her through her glamour; and then she changed. The air about her seemed to thicken and darken, and her garments became more solid and conventional, though hardly suitable for a walk in the park. I noticed that Mr Holmes did not seem surprised by what would have been, to him, her sudden appearance. 

He doffed his hat. "Ma'm," he said, with the air of someone addressing minor royalty, which perhaps he was, "Your letter was obscure. I have made some enquiries, but need to know more. And to discuss my fee."

She glanced at me. I did not recognise her, I was a child when I had last seen her kind in this park, but she clearly knew me.

"Thrice seven years ago, the ill-formed child that I had borne to one of your kind was taken from me and exchanged for a handsome human boy-child. This woman saw the change. The boy we took was raised among us, he partook of our bread and our customs. Now he has returned to the world, and I want my child back."

So even the Old Ones know mother love. 

"It was easier to find the human youth whom you stole and then allowed to return to a world of which he had no experience," said Mr Holmes. "The morals of fairyland do not apply in England. He should have realised that before he engaged in his pleasures." He shook out the newspaper he was holding and revealed the headline, **Walworth Murderer Convicted** and a picture of a sour-faced young man staring out with blank eyes.

The Lady seized it from him. "No!" she exclaimed. "It can't be!"

"I assure you it is," said Mr Holmes. "I investigated myself. The bruises could not have been inflicted after death, as he claimed, I proved that upon the carcass of a pig. There was also a knife point broken off on the ribs which matched one in his possession. It was a bronze blade, not iron. And not of human workmanship, although I did not vouchsafe that detail to the authorities. The blood was enough to convict him. Seven bodies. Not including the animals. What ritual was he trying to complete?"

"I don't know..." She looked shaken, and I was sure that she knew exactly what lay behind the carnage wrought by the elf-raised child. 

Mr Holmes confirmed it. "I think that you do." he said. "He was taking his revenge on the family from whom he believed he was stolen." He looked at her with an expression of regret. "I cannot say that he was wrong. You must abandon your search. Both your sons are lost to you, and to your world."

She howled. The sound echoed round the park, but I must have been the only one who heard it, for the waterfowl did not react, and a child chasing a kite on the far side of the Water continued with its play unheeding. Even Mr Holmes, who could see the anguish in her face, did not react to the sound.

"I regret your loss," he said. "And I need no fee. Go back to your people and be grateful that they will not be pursued over this matter."

She stopped screaming and her gaze settled on his face. I do not know what she saw there, but eventually she nodded and turned away. "You have fulfilled your bargain," she said. "My people will remember. Farewell."

And she was gone.

***

Mr Holmes and I walked back together to the main road. I thought back on all that had happened and came to a conclusion of my own. It does not do to lie to the Old Ones, but they do not understand the subtleties of human thought.

"Did you find her son?" I asked.

He halted by the steps into the gardens. His eyes were shadowed and for a long while I did not think that he would answer me. Then he sighed.

"I found a changeling, " he said, "A child born in Clerkenwell some twenty years ago, with a cleft lip, and other strange deformations, to a family who loved him despite them. He has grown into a young man with a unique view of life, and a talent to express his visions. I think he will be a great artist. But his future lies in our world, not hers. She has no claim on her abandoned son. Let her think him dead, killed by the child she stole. But I think that young Mr Wain will be worth watching."


End file.
